Falling asleep: my letters to you
by HopeBartonMockingbird1999
Summary: Hope Barton, you're my niece, and Loki hurt you really bad, so I'm gonna write you a letter every day until you wake up. Love, Clint. Clint/OC, rated K-plus for very mild language. Like, the D-word maybe twice. Rate, share, and like please, I appreciate it. Also a bucket of feels
1. Chapter 1

Day 1.  
You got hurt today. And it's my fault, Hope. I watched as the light faded from your eyes in the sun. Today is January 12, 2013. And you're in a coma.

Barbara Hope Barton. That's what it says here on your hospital record clipboard thing. It's truly a bad name; Barbara. You don't look like a Barbara. But then again, that's why you go by your middle name. I don't really look like the kinda guy that would be named Francis. I guess that's why I go by my first name.

After you closed your eyes, I cried. I know it makes you upset when I tell you that I cry sometimes, but it's the truth. And the look you give me when I cry is the only thing that can cheer me up most of the time. There are a few times though, when I can't be comforted by that look, it's usually when I have nightmares about other people. Like Budapest, I guess I should tell you what happened there, when you wake up. I hope you wake up.

I took you to the hospital, and you woke up for about five minutes. I can't tell you how happy I was, but, as you know, all good things must come to an end.

The doctors here are nice. I'm guessing you would think that. One of them looks like that Jensen Ackles guy you're obsessed with. Like, WHAT? SPITTING IMAGE HERE?! Anyway, I'm getting off track.

After you went under for the second time, the doctors took you into the OR, where they put you to sleep and started cleaning your wound. I don't know if you heard what I said to you in the hallway, but I hope you did. I don't think I could say those words again without crying.

During what felt like 10 years, I saw the heart monitor by your side stop twice. I don't ever want to feel the feeling I got that moment ever again.

Now we're here, I'm sitting by your bedside, I was holding your hand until I decided to cry again. I cried myself to sleep, Hope. And I had a dream about earlier this morning. When I woke up I ran home and changed. I also grabbed my laptop. When I came back a few nurses got my arm bandaged up. It was full of glass.

When I got done there, I grabbed my computer and came back here. And I started typing this letter. You made a noise when I was typing about Ackles doctor. But he was in the room at the time and said it was just a reflexive moan. So, to say it simply, you moaned out of human instinct.

It's 9:45, I'm sleeping here tonight


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2.  
Today is January 13, 2013. It's 4:22 in the afternoon. You're still in a coma, and I'm still here. I slept here last night. Don't judge me, this chair is comfortable.

I don't get tired of seeing your skin and your face. I know that sounds weird, but it's weirdly compelling to look at. Your skin is cool, and it lost its color. I know you have a lot of yellow in your skin tone; I didn't before, it almost looks gray.

Your face looks different too, it doesn't look ugly or anything, no. It's just, it doesn't look anything like when you're asleep. When you're asleep you look soft, you look harmless, and innocent. But I know that you're just as deadly as I am.

Here, you don't even look vaguely threatening. You look so weak, and small. Almost afraid to wake up. Don't be afraid, sweetheart. Don't be afraid to wake up, if you do, I'll hold your little hands, I'll play with your hair, I'll talk to you in that one voice you love. You know the one I'm talking about.

Remember when you were little? You used to come into my bedroom almost every night. You had horrible nightmares. They were about your parents. I would always hug you and tell you that it was okay in that voice, sometimes I would hold you and sing to you until you fell asleep in my arms.

I would lay down and let you listen to me breathing other days. Somehow that's very comforting to you. Maybe because breath is a sign of life, and when your mother died you pressed your ear to her chest and cried even louder than you already were. Sometimes, I would just whisper to you and stroke your beautiful hair until your eyes fluttered shut.

You said you liked that thumping you heard when you laid your head on my chest when you were little, and I always told you that it was my heart, and that you had one too. And I always told you that maybe one day, you would have someone who was upset listen to your heart. You swore up and down that that was not gonna happen for a long time; but then again, I'm listening to your heart right now, and it's only been 10 years.

Im not listening to the annoying buzz of the heart monitor, I'm pressing my ear on your chest, and listening to your heart beat. It's soft, and it makes me feel better. Maybe that's why you came into my room some of those nights, not because you were scared. Maybe it was because you just wanted to listen to that thump.

You still look innocent when you sleep. Remember when Loki came around the first time? After the battle? When we were in that shawarma joint, you basically inhaled your food and then fell asleep on me, your arms were wrapped around my neck and it hurt a little, but I deserved that. I hurt you far worse while I was under Loki's control.

I have a confession. Sometimes I wake up at night screaming because I'm filled with memories of what I did under that spell. Usually I would just tense up and stop talking, but the thing that makes me cry the most is when I remember your expression when I was hurting you. You were terrified, and gasping for breath. I, the only solid, constant thing in your life, was trying to suffocate you so that you couldn't shoot Loki.

I still blame myself for that. I don't care how many times you say it wasn't my fault and that I didn't know what I was doing. I still did it, with my own hands. I hurt you and broke this invisible line between us, and I didn't even fix my end. You fixed it by forgiving me, and I still selfishly ask for your forgiveness again and again, I'm so sorry.

I can hear my phone vibrating, it's Natasha.

Natasha asked me to go home. I probably should. You need your space. Goodnight, Hope. I'm gonna come back tomorrow.

I love you so much.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 6.  
Hope, I'm so sorry, I haven't seen you in four days. I can't do that anymore. Not ever.

It feels so different, right now. It feels like there's a chunk missing from reality. You're not here, you're in some other world. I feel depressed Hope, I feel tired, and sad. I just want to lay here, and rest.

Your condition isn't any different, but Ackles doctor told me that if you weren't in this coma, you would be healing well. I came in today seeing him checking your heart rate and seeing over your wound to check if there was any swelling. I watched him change the bandages. Your cut is shaped like a "Y". it's not that big though, and it looks way less scary when it's cleaned up and stitched.

He was gentle. And I knew that you were in good hands. I talked to him for a minute. He said you opened your eyes before he put you under. I'm proud of you for that.

Just in case you do wake up soon, I've been doing some of your work. I had no idea how much time you got to spend with Maria. I didn't think you two were that close of friends. Obviously I can't get all your work done, but what I can do, I am. It's worth the extra hour and a half less sleep. I don't want you to get behind, just like when I was under Loki's spell, and you did about half the work I'd been assigned those three days. You were exhausted.

Peter isn't doing so well, none of us are. Apparently there was this blowup argument the day of your accident. I heard Natasha cried and Tony and Steve hurt each other.

Can I ask you a favor? If you do... If things... Happen, if you can see my parents, and your mother, come to me in a dream or something and tell them I'm sorry. They'll know what I mean.

My arm is still bandaged, it's healing well too. 17 pieces, that's how many glass pieces the doctors pulled out of my arm, you have bandages too. There's one on your forehead, where I think a rock may have cut you or something, and a few on your chest. There's one on your wrist too, and one on your ankle. I guess you sprained those or something, but they're getting better. I had a cut on my nose, but it's healed by now.

I love you, Hope, please remember that.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 14,  
It's February 2, 2013. I thought you should know that. I'm listening to the moulin rouge soundtrack on your phone. I like this one song.

"I will love you, until my dying day" I like that line. It's kinda how I feel about you. I really will.

Nothing much has changed, but your breathing seems a little short though.

I love you.


	5. Chapter 5

Day 15,  
Why? Why on earth are you doing this to me? Why would you do this, Hope? Can you even hear me when I shout your name to you? I'm so lost without you.

I was back at the tower, in my room. I haven't been in your room since the accident, I can't stand being in there. I had showered, and shaved for, like, the first time in forever. Natasha accidentally came in and saw me almost nude. You would have laughed, I miss that laugh.

She talked to me, about you. She said awful things that I can't think about. I cried again, and then I came here. I came in to see your face again. It wasn't your face though, it was someone who was dying, who just looked exactly like you.

Everyone's starting to think I'm crazy, because I saw you on my balcony.  
It wasn't you though, it was Natasha, but I thought it was you. I think I am starting to go a little bit crazy. I slept at home. Not at the tower, at our apartment home. I know you always hated that place, and you consider either the helicarrier or NY base home. You spend most of your nights there. Consequently, I spend my nights there too, because I don't want to leave you.

Do you wonder what I do here? Besides writing all these letters? And besides talking to your unconscious face? I usually run in here, talk to one of the doctors; them and their practiced sympathy. Then I'll talk to you, I'll say your name, tell you how I've been, blah blah blah. Sometimes I'll watch TV, sometimes I'll read a book. Yesterday I watched this hilariously stupid movie called "Sharknado" it was really stupid, but you would've laughed. I've started reading The Fault in Our Stars, by John green? You know that book. You love it. Can you tell me, are Hazel and Augustus going to go to Amsterdam? Are they going to meet that author guy?

I miss you, Hope. And in case I can't say this again, I love you.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 17  
Today is the 5th, and you're still here, and I'm still here. And it's snowing. It snowed yesterday. Again. And I think everyone kinda lazed around like I did. If you were here you'd probably suggest we go to holiday world or something. I even checked the weather in Indiana. It's warm and sunny.

I stole your phone, I hope you don't mind. I looked through your music and right now I'm listening to that one song from Donnie Darko. You know, that familiar faces one? Did I mention how I love when you sing that song, even when you're sad. Your voice just makes it beautiful, and heartbreaking. Oh, look. Here's a video of Natasha recording you singing it. You can tell because her finger is a little bit in the camera and nobody has skin that pale at SHIELD.

Speaking of Natasha, you know she's been here about five times? She sings songs to you and strokes your hair. Most of the time they're Russian, and I can't understand her dialect, but she translates it to English for me. Her hair has grown longer; it's about as long as Thor's now.

Your hair has grown a little bit too. It doesn't look as shiny as it used to. It must be something in your shampoo. Your hair always smelled awesome when you got out of the shower. The dry shampoo they use on you here is kind of gross and has no smell.

Since they don't technically bathe people in comas, I've noticed that you have a smell. Not a bad one though, I've grown to enjoy the smell of your skin. Whenever I kiss your hand or your cheek, I can catch whiffs of it on your shoulder or arm. Every now and again I'll kiss your wound over the covers. It's healing well, by the way, and may get its stitches taken out soon.

My arm is completely healed, as far as I can tell, and I can practice with my bow again. I miss our practices together, I miss you. I miss how when you miss the bullseye you're crushed, but then you get extremely determined and shoot over and over and over again until your arms are aching. You make the shot, and your face beams, you turn to me, and your eyes are lit up with pride. I miss that.

I miss how annoyed we both are when one of us ends up getting a Robin Hood. We were happy the first few times; but arrows are expensive, and I have too many of yours in my room.

I also miss the days when you don't get the shot, and you end up so exhausted and upset by the work that I have to support you back into your room and start rubbing your arms. You'll lean your head on my shoulder or chest while I rub out the aches and soreness. Sometimes you fall asleep, but other times you start to hum and I lean back and think of the words to whatever song you're singing.

That's what I miss, Hope.


	7. Chapter 7

Day 26

Today is Valentines day. Otherwise known as the most depressing day of my life.

You've lost a lot of weight, about 13 pounds. It's not good. You're fourteen and you weigh 88 pounds. I mean, you were small before, but you're just getting to be skin and bones.

I can also say that you've lost pretty much all the muscle that was in your arms. If you wake up, you and I are gonna go on a serious protein and calcium spree. So, goodie for you, you're gonna eat a buttload of steak and drink a buttload of milk; Your favorite things.

Anyway, today would've been a special day, you and I wouldn't have done our usual valentines day activities of getting really crappy gag jokes as gifts for each other. No, I have enough glittery pink feather hats from Costco.

Today, I had been planning for months. Since December, actually. I was planning to take you on a "mission" to Paris, and when we got there, I was gonna take you to this annual party they have nearby the Louvre museum. I don't know if you get to see the art tonight, but if not, I would've taken you tomorrow.

The specific theme of this dance for me was to teach you how to do the traditional ballroom dances, like the waltz and stuff like that. I imagined that you would wear your red and white dress, you know the one I'm talking about. The way the sweetheart neckline, bodice, blood red belt at the hips, and soft, ruffly ball gown-style bottom fits on you so well. And you usually wear your red flats with that. Beautiful.

That's how I imagined you, and myself in a black tux, pink rose in my lapel, holding onto you as you hold onto me, in a foreign country. With exotic people, an exotic language, under a foreign night sky. I imagined you, with your gorgeous hazel eyes that brighten up your face. With your silky honey-brown hair, turned silver in the moonlight.

I am imagining you right now, pulled close in my grip. I run my fingers through the curled bangs that line your face. You smile, that snowy white smile. Laying your head on my chest as you hold the bouquet of pink and white roses, standing for sweetness and innocence, in your arm. I kiss your forehead, and you close those beautiful eyes of yours as we dance. You're clumsy at first, but you quickly learn and are dancing as well as the other women in the room.

It seems like time doesn't exist in this world, this moment lasts forever. However, my imagination has become grounded in reality, because you're unconscious, in a coma ward in New York. At 6:23 pm eastern time, with machines keeping you alive.

I don't blame you though, neither of us could see the accident happening, but I'd like to think you'd go with my idea, and go to Paris. I had already purchased the tickets. Yet, since we are in a difficult situation, and ball tickets are expensive, I decided to give them to Tony and Pepper.

Tony was speechless, you would have loved to see his reaction, Hope. He just stood there, mouth wide open. He took the tickets very reluctantly, and he called me yesterday to say that he'd arrived. They're probably dancing right now. How sweet.

I'm giving you roses, white roses represent innocence, and pink roses represent sweetness.

Happy Valentine's day, I love you Hope.


	8. Chapter 8

Day 30-something

Hey Hope, how are you? By the way it's Tony.

Clint told me about these letters, and he's at home right now. I told him that he needs to rest and let his arm heal better. He complained for a while, but eventually I persuaded him.

In case you haven't heard, Pepper is due with Michael soon, and that's coming along well. We also discussed this for a long time, and I think we're going to make you, Clint, and the rest of our group his god family. We're all happy for that, and we wish for you to wake up.

Your condition hasn't really gotten much better, but your breathing is less gross sounding. I don't know if Clint told you or not, but about a week ago, you developed a small cold. They got all the nasty crap out of your system though. So that's good.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you something important; Something I found out about Clint. I came in here this morning, and I sat down next to Clint. He was whispering something to you, but I think he already knew I was there. He sat back and looked at me. There was this look of total depression on him, and it was obvious he's been crying. He said to me: "I am the worst parent ever, not even MY parents would let this happen to her."

I have to disagree though, because I think Clint is damn well the best possible parent I've ever seen. The way he treats you, with so much respect and care, it's almost mind blowing. And considering your messed up situation, you have turned out in the best possible way, and do you know what makes me the most surprised? You don't resent his, or anyone's, authority. Literally every teenager I've ever met has said they hate their parents, but not you. You and Clint adore each other from what I've seen and heard, and I also read that letter Clint wrote to you on valentines day, you two are a pair. You can't be separated, and I find that fascinating.

I said that to Clint because I wanted to know his secret, he smiled at me and said that I was lying, that that wasn't true. But I confirmed it. It's true, and I admire your little family for achieving that level of happiness. Clint told me he would give me pointers about being a dad.

Anyway, I hope you wake up soon, I've got some new armor prototypes I want you to try out. I'm sure you're gonna love them.


	9. Chapter 9

Day, 40 I think?

Dear Hope, it's march, or February, I don't know I haven't checked. It's raining outside, I love rain.

There's something about this type of weather that makes you happy. I don't know what it is, but whenever it rains hard like this, you seem so happy. I can tell because you don't take your battle staves with you wherever you go. You also don't usually wear your contacts, and you don't bother to straighten your hair and put it in a bun instead of a ponytail.

You always look more normal teenagerish when your walls are down. I know those walls go straight back up whenever someone besides Tony, Bruce, Peter, Tasha, and I talk to you; Not that you're rude to Steve, Thor, or Pepper, you just seem a little more tense because you don't know them that well.

Not that you haven't tried, I mean, there was that time when you tried to catch Steve up on world culture and stuff, but you got unbelievably frustrated. I laughed that whole day. I can understand why though. You can't really connect to Steve on a personal level just because he's too old-fashioned for you, but he does treat you well, and he tells you all about his time.

None of us really know Thor too well, and I'm pretty sure you're still mad at him for eating your waffles a few mornings before the accident. As far as I've seen, you don't really talk to Pepper that often, other than to exchange paperwork to Tony.

Anyway, sometimes you'll end up wearing one of my old shirts I had when I was your age. You and I would sit on the couch, eating popcorn while trying to keep Thor away from your pop tarts. One of us would pick out a spy movie, and we'd sit there and point out and laugh at all the inaccuracies. Those are great days. I wish we'd had more of them.

On the nights when it thundered, sometimes the heater would bust out in our old apartment. Y'know, before we moved into the helicarrier. Back when you were little. Some of those nights you'd have a nightmare, and you'd come into my room.

"Clint? Wake up" you would say as you shook my shoulder. "I had a bad dream" I always knew where you were going with that. I would throw the covers back and put a shirt on. I still sleep shirtless. It's not weird Hope, stop judging my shirtless sleep patterns. I would let you sit in my lap, and I'd hold onto you and sing. I know you like me singing.

Eventually you would fall asleep after I tell you that there's nothing there to be afraid of. I would watch your little chest rise and fall. You look so cute when you're asleep. You look sweet right now, when I'm holding onto your hand.

I sent you flowers. They're orchids, your favorites; and I made sure they're hypoallergenic so you don't choke on your own mucus and die. You should've seen the florist's face when I asked him for hypoallergenic orchids.

Anyway, I love you.


	10. Chapter 10

Day... I can't even remember, 75?

I'm not at the hospital, I'm at the tower. Everything seems gray right now. The doctors told me that it's extremely unlikely that you'll wake up at this point, and that the only reason your heart is beating and your lungs are inflating is because there is a machine making it do so. They plan to cut off your life support soon.

Did I tell you I was diagnosed with clinical depression about a month ago? Yeah, I was given pills but I haven't taken them, I might as well start. Here's the deal. I'll go take my pills, and come back to my room and finish this letter; and if I do that, promise me you'll die on your own terms. Not because the doctors are shutting off your lifeline, but because your brain stops working?

I'll be back soon, oh yeah, it's raining again.

I love you.


	11. Chapter 11

A few days later, day, what, 90?

I forgot to tell you, it's April 3rd, sorry I haven't written you anything recently, but... I had... A, uh, situation... With my depression pills. Um, apparently I accidentally overdosed on expired medicine and was admitted to the hospital for two days. Yeah, it's embarrassing. I was discharged about two and a half weeks ago.

Anyway, Tasha says goodbye, she cried this morning seeing you, or, rather, what you were. You're almost unrecognizable, how thin you've gotten; but it's okay, they're gonna cut off the machines tomorrow so you won't waste away anymore.

Steve and Bruce came in today too, to pay their respects. Tony is here, right now. He's talking to you. He's saying how he can't possibly find a new guinea pig for his armor prototypes. Apparently he's already asked Tasha, but she said no. Maybe Peter could fit the bill? He came in with Bruce yesterday too. Thor is supposed to come this afternoon.

Everyone gave you cards and presents, or, really, me. You're not gonna open those cards. The chances of you waking up now are almost impossible. I opened a few of the cards, they're nice. The presents mainly consisted of chocolate. I hate chocolate. I've grown to hate everything that reminds me of you, because if I can't share it with you, I might as well not have it.

I even broke my bow, I literally smashed it on my knee. I don't care, I smashed all of my bows, except one. I had it in my hands, I looked at it. I don't know why I couldn't break that one. I had no idea why, then it hit me. It was the bow I had when you were four, when your dad shot your mom. I'd had that bow notched and ready to shoot, but I looked to the upstairs window of the old house.

I never regretted looking up, because I saw a face, an innocent, terrified, confused, beautiful little face. Your face. I looked at that face, relaxed my bow, and walked inside as your father, drunk, tried to process the fact that he just violently murdered his wife in front of his toddler.

I remember calling 911, and running upstairs to find you. You were crying behind your bed, and screamed at the blood on my shirt, but I told you that it was gonna be okay, you looked at me, your 21-year-old uncle, with this look of indescribable mixes of emotion, and you just fell apart there and cried.

I remembered that, and that's why I couldn't break that last bow.

Natasha is sitting next to me, she didn't send chocolate. She didn't send anything. She's only sung the lyrics to your lullaby in Russian. She sings it over and over at night until she falls asleep holding a blanket you made for her three years ago. Whenever I look at her now, all I see is hollow cheeks, and empty eyes.

She doesn't talk anymore, and I don't talk to her. Actually neither of us talk anymore. We just lay at home or write mission summaries or sit on either side of your bed. Sometimes I hold onto your hand, it's very soft, but it's not warm and tan like it used to be. It's gray, and cold, like how I feel now. Natasha just hums and strokes your cheek or your hair, which is also getting a grayish tint.

Everything is fading Hope. It's pretty obvious that since you're gonna die, one of us is gonna end up in a coffin at the same funeral. Most likely it'll be me. I still have those expired pills, maybe I do make bad decisions, but I don't think there's anything to stop me.

I think this may be my last letter to you.

I love you.


	12. Chapter 12

Day 91

Hope, oh my god. I love you so much there is nothing that could describe what I was feeling when I saw you today. Your chances, your minute, minuscule, impossible chances were proved right. You had a 1 to 100 BILLION odd of waking up, and you, my sweetheart, were nothing short of a beautiful miracle.

I was sitting in your room, whispering to you, almost furious with myself, and the doctors' practiced sympathy. I was crying ugly tears, and I was shaking. I couldn't bring myself to take those pills, I couldn't possibly do that. Overdosing on accident is one thing; but on purpose, I can't do it.

It's a good thing, too. I was whispering things to you, saying my final goodbyes, and I noticed the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard, I heard you moan and gasp. I don't care if you were in pain, but those were NOT reflex moans.

That was real. I knew it was real because I felt your fingers curl in my hand. I set your hand down and sat back, and when your eyes fluttered open, I swear to god, or Allah, or whoever, Charlie sheen for all I care, I was the happiest person in my conceivable existence. Whatever that means, you said it one time and I liked it because it sounded smart, so I'm using it here, I hope I'm using it with accurate context.

Anyway, I watched you, tears streaming down my face, as you turned your head and rubbed your eyes. You tried to sit up, but I gently pushed you back down. You aren't allowed to sit up yet. But the moment you started speaking, I fell apart. I grabbed you and hugged you way too tight, and you just kept saying my name, happier each time, until you were literally sobbing my name. Over and over.

It's not like I'm that much better when I cry, though. I just kept saying I was sorry, and I am. It was my fault you got hurt in the first place; and I'm sorry for that, but you're okay, and I'm okay, and everything's okay now. I'm so relieved. I love you.

Now I KNOW this is the last letter I'm writing to you. This letter, and this little story, are ending. Maybe, if you have any, you'll read this to your kids. I'd advise not reading that last letter though.

I love you, Hope. There's nothing that can express how much though, but know that I do. I'll always love you no matter what. We're a team, you and I.

Hawkeye and Mockingbird... That has a nice sound to it, don't you think?


End file.
